


The Doctor and the Princess Bride

by Whovian101



Category: Doctor Who, The Princess Bride - William Goldman
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-11-28 02:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18202265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whovian101/pseuds/Whovian101
Summary: The Doctor finds himself on a pirate ship and embarks on a journey to save the captain's one true love.





	1. The Dread Pirate Roberts

**Author's Note:**

> I love comments. I would love to hear what you think, any ideas you may have, or what I should do next!

The Doctor stepped out of his TARDIS only to find himself on a large ship and, based on its make, shape, design, and flag, it was a pirate ship. Brilliant.

Just as he shut the doors and stepped forwards out of the TARDIS’s perception filter, he felt a sharp blade, pressed against his side.

“Who are you? How did you get aboard?” The man, clearly a higher-ranking crew member, demanded.

“Hello then, I’m the Doctor.” The Doctor smiled awkwardly. “I’ve seemed to have accidently – er – docked onto your ship.” He sidestepped the sword only to have the pirate push it further into the Doctor, drawing a small amount of blood.

“I ought to bring you to the captain.” He growled fiercely.

“Oh! Brilliant! Take me to your leader!” The Doctor bounced on the balls of his feet in excitement.

“Freak.” The pirate grumbled, forcing the Doctor forward, leading him towards the captain’s quarters.

“Captain Roberts, sir!” The man wrapped urgently on the door.

“What?” The door jumped open and a man in black stood in the doorway. He had a casual look to him, relaxed yet deadly. His eyes quickly scanned the man in front of him. “Who is this?”

“I’m the Doctor.” The Doctor grinned excitedly.

“I asked for your name, not your rank.”

“And I gave you my name.”

“ _Doctor_ isn’t a name.”

“Well it is _my_ name.”

“All right then, how did you manage to get on my ship?”

“Yes, I seemed to have accidentally docked –”

“How do you ‘accidentally’ dock onto a ship?”

“Yes, well, see, my ship’s –”

“Sir!” The crew, now alerted to the intruder from the first pirate, had sent a man to check for a ship. “There is no ship docked.”

“So,” Roberts turned to the Doctor, a confident smirk across his face, “your only escape is gone.” The Doctor shrugged, so the captain went on, “And tell me, Doctor, why shouldn’t I just kill you?”

“Because I can be quite useful.”

“How?”

“Well, I’m quite clever I suppose, I –”

“Why are you here? What do you want?” Roberts demanded.

“For adventure I suppose, fancy myself something exciting.”

Captain Roberts addressed the crew, “I’ll take him to the cells.”

He tied the Doctor’s hands together and escorted him to the cells. Once the door shut, Roberts looked at the Doctor through the small window.

“Sleep well, I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”

 

The next morning, the Doctor was put to work. He hadn’t any reason to leave, and perhaps they’d run intos something exciting, so as long as Captain Roberts didn’t kill him, he chose to stay.

It only took two days for the Doctor to discover who Captain Roberts was, or more accurately, who he wasn’t.

“Clean out the cells.” Roberts had demanded of a crew member.

“Yes sir, Dread Pirate Roberts, sir!”

The Doctor had turned to the man in black.

“You’re not the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

“Whatever do you mean?” The man in black scoffed.

“I met the Dread Pirate Roberts, and you are not he.”

“And you survived?”

“I have a knack for that, yes.”

“Then I must kill you."

“There’s no reason for that.”

“I can’t have the word get out that the Dread Pirate Roberts is a fake now, can I?”

“Sir Roberts!” Another crew member burst in. “We’ve spotted another ship!”

“At this hour? Where?”

“It just docked on the coast of Florin, but looks prepared to leave once again.”

“Set course.”

“Yes, sir.” The pirate left.

“How many?” The Doctor asked.

“What?”

“How many Dread Pirate Roberts’ have there been.”

“I am the fifth.”

“Who are you really, then?”

“My name is Westley.”

The Doctor nodded.

“All right then, Captain Roberts, let’s go see what that ship is doing.”


	2. Inigo the Spaniard

As the ship got closer, the Doctor, with his superior vision, spotted four figures. The easiest to spot was a large giant; In his arms was an unconscious feminine figure. Next to him was a Spaniard as well as another smaller man, seeming to be the leader of this group. As he reported this to Westly, the captain demanded,

“What does she look like?”

“Well, she’s got blonde hair,” The Doctor squinted, as they still were very far away. “She looks noble, perhaps even royal.”

“How can you see that?”

“Superior vision.”

“What?”

“Why do you ask, do you know someone who might be kidnapped around here?”

“The princess-to-be. Buttercup. She is – she was – my, you know… Anyway.”

“What happened?”

“I took on the Dread Pirate Roberts, she thought me dead, and she got engaged to Prince Humperdinck.” Westley said it in a very uncaring manner, but his eyes told a different story.

“I see…”

“But I must save her nonetheless.” Westley decided firmly, as if not saving her was ever an option.

“Brilliant. Allons-y!”

“No.” Westley said, “No, I shall go alone.”

“Why?”

“It is my duty to protect her.”

“Well, what if I could help?”

“Fine. But only because I’m not willing to leave you here alone with my men.”

“Brilliant.”

“Grab a sword.”

“What?” The Doctor looked at Westley, “No.”

Westley stared at the Doctor, “What do you mean, no? You need a sword.”

“I don’t carry weapons. Don’t like them.”

“Fine, you don’t have to _use_ it. Just carry one.”

“No.”

“Then you can’t come.”

“You’re not my mother.” The Doctor stuck his tongue out at the captain, taking the sword. “But don’t expect me to use it.”

Westley’s ship followed the other ship to a large cliffside. The cliff rose straight and sheer from the water, one thousand feet up into the night.

“The Cliffs of Insanity.” Westley explained, “I haven’t a clue why they’re going there. That’s the steepest part.”

The other ship docked and the shorter one pulled out a hidden rope attached to something  at the top – a large rock or towering tree. The Spaniard took the rope and tied up Buttercup’s hands and feet. The giant raised a great leg and stomped down on the center of the boat, which gave way immediately and began to sink. The giant then went to the rope and took it in his hands.

The Spaniard lifted Buttercup and draped her body around the giant’s shoulders. He then tied himself to the giant’s waist and the shorter one hopped up and clung on to the giant’s neck.

The giant began to climb.

“Move faster!” Westley commanded.

The Doctor and Westley reached shore and began to climb up the cliff after them. By the time the giant, Buttercup, the Spaniard, and the shorter one had reached the top, the Doctor and Westley were no more than three hundred feet away.

“You’re an admirable climber to be able to keep up with me.” Westley commented.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Climbing cliffs?”

“It seems a shame,” The Doctor could hear the giant say, “Such climbers deserve better than that.”

The shorter one, a Sicilian as the Doctor identified, had untied the rope from its knots around an oak. The Doctor grabbed Westley and jumped from the rope and onto the cliffside. The rope whipped past them and spiraled into the moonlit channel.

The Sicilian was roaring now and kept at it until the Spaniard said, “They did it.”

“Did what?” The Sicilian came scurrying to the cliff edge.

“Released the rope in time,” The Spaniard said, “See?” He pointed down at the Doctor and Westley.

The Sicilian watched, fascinated, “You know,” he said, “since I’ve made a study of death and dying and am a great expert, it might interest you to know that they will be long dead before they hit the water. The fall will do it, not the crash.”

“That’s not true!” The Doctor called up.

“What?” The Sicilian stared at him.

“You’re wrong!” He called back up.

“That’s inconceivable!”

“What do you mean?” The Spaniard called down, intrigued at the man so bold as to claim the Sicilian was wrong.

“It’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the sudden stop and surface tension!” The Doctor explained. “The only way you could die in free fall is if you were so high up that the intense cold and lack of oxygen would kill you, but that would be over a hundred thousand feet.”

“How do you know that?” Westley asked quietly.

“I studied physics.”

“Did you really?”

“Well, transdimensional physics, but all the same…”

“But that’s inconceivable!” The Sicilian shouted again. Then, looking down at the two dangling men said, “Oh, how rude we’re being.” He turned to Buttercup. “I’m sure you’d like to watch.” He went to her and brought her, still tied hand and foot, so that she could watch the struggle of the men, three hundred feet below.

Buttercup closed her eyes and turned away, having no desire to watch this.

“Shouldn’t we be going?” The Spaniard inquired, “I thought you were telling us how important time was.”  
“It is, it is,” The Sicilian nodded. “But I just can’t miss a death like this. I could stage one of these every week and sell tickets. I could get out of the assassination business entirely. Look at them – do you think their lives are passing before their eyes? That’s what the books say.”

“Well, as someone who has died a great number of times, I can confirm that.” The Doctor called back, “but you are mistaken if you think we are to die.”

“You are truly a puzzle, Doctor.” Westley said.

The Doctor began climbing up. His fingers raw from the sharp rocks, but still moving higher and higher.

“They have very strong arms.” The giant commented. “To hold on for so long.”

“They can’t hold on much longer,” the Sicilian said eagerly. “They have to fall soon.”

Westley began to climb after the Doctor, who was scouting out the safest path up the rocks.

“Inconceivable!” the Sicilian cried again.

The Spaniard whirled on the Sicilian. _“Stop saying that word._ It was inconceivable that anyone could follow us, but when we looked behind, there was a ship. It was inconceivable that anyone could sail as fast as we could sail, and yet they gained on us. Now this too is inconceivable, but look – look –” And the Spaniard pointed through the night. “See how they rise.”

They were indeed rising, but at a slower pace than the Doctor would like. They were now perhaps fifteen feet closer to the top, farther from death.

The Sicilian advanced on the Spaniard now, his wild eyes glittering at the insubordination. “I have the keenest mind that has ever been turned to unlawful pursuits.” The Doctor scoffed, though it was not heard by the Sicilian. “So when I tell you something, it is not guesswork; it is fact! And the fact is that these men are _not_ following us. A more logical explanation would be that he is simply an ordinary sailor who dabbles in mountain climbing as a hobby and happens to have the same general final destination as we do. That certainly satisfies me and I hope it satisfies you.”

“I think you might be mistaken!” The Doctor shouted up. The Spaniard smirked and the Sicilian shouted.

“Shut up!” He faced the Spaniard again. “In any case, we cannot take the risk of them seeing us with the Princess, and therefore one of you must kill them.”

“Shall I do it?” The giant wondered aloud.

The Sicilian shook his head. “No, Fezzik,” he said finally. “I need your strength to carry the girl: Pick her up now and let us hurry along.” He turned to the Spaniard. “We’ll be heading directly for the frontier of Guilder. Catch up as quickly as you can once they’re dead.”

The Spaniard nodded.

The Sicilian hobbled away.

Fezzik hoisted Buttercup and began following the Sicilian. “Catch up quickly.” The Sicilian commanded as he exited.

“Don’t I always?” The Spaniard waved. “Farewell, Fezzik.”

“Farewell, Inigo,” Fezzik repliend, and then the giant and Sicilian were gone, leaving Inigo alone.

Inigo moved to the cliff edge and knelt with quick grace. The Doctor and Westley were only two hundred and fifty feet below him now, continuing their painful climb. Inigo lay flat, staring down at them. He then jumped to his feet, his body ready, and pulled from his scabbard a great six-fingered sword, yet the man only had five fingers.

“Slow going?” Inigo called down.

“I don’t mean to be rude!” Westley called back, for without the Doctor’s superior hearing had been unable to hear the conversation above and was visibly grateful to have the chance to partake in conversation. “But this is not as easy as it looks! I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t distract us.”

“Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re a quite interesting man.” Inigo called to the Doctor, looking bored out of his mind, “May I ask how you were able to hear us?”

“Superior hearing!”

“What does that mean?”

The Doctor grinned, but kept climbing.

“I don’t suppose you could speed things up,” Inigo asked impatiently.

“If you want to speed things up so much,” Westley suggested, “you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find some other helpful thing to do.”

“I could do that,” Inigo agreed, “But I don’t think you would accept my help, since I’m only waiting up here so that I can kill you.”

“That does put a damper on our relationship.” The Doctor called back.

“I could give you my word as a Spaniard.”

“No good.” Westley replied. “I’ve known too many Spaniards.”

“I’m going crazy up here,” Inigo said.

“Anytime you want to change places, I’d be too happy to accept.” Westley said.

Thirty-nine feet to go.

“Come along now,” Inigo pleaded.

“Look, we’ve got a piece of extra rope up here we didn’t need when we made our original climb. I’ll just drop it down to you, and you grab hold, and I’ll pull and –”

“No good.” Westley repeated. “You _might_ pull, but then again, you also just _might_ let go, which, since you’re in such a hurry to kill us, would certainly do the job quickly.”

“But you wouldn’t have ever known I was going to kill you if I hadn’t been the one to tell you. Doesn’t that let you know I can be trusted?” Inigo asked hopefully.

“Frankly, and I hope you won’t be insulted, no.”

“There’s no way you’ll trust me?”

“Nothing comes to mind.”

Suddenly, Inigo raised his right hand high. “I swear on the soul of my father, Domingo Montoya you will reach the top alive.”

The Doctor looked up at the man, “We accept.”

Inigo quickly tied the rope around a rock and dropped it over. The Doctor and Westley grabbed ahold and Inigo pulled. In moments, the two men were beside the Spaniard.

“Thank you.” The Doctor said.

Westley sank down on the rock. Inigo sat alongside him, the Doctor too sat down.

“So, that sword.”

Inigo looked at the Doctor, “What about it?”

“It’s made for a six-fingered hand. You only have five.”

“Yes.” Inigo looked suddenly at the Doctor, excitement glinting in his eyes, “You don’t by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?”

“No?” Inigo looked down in disappointment. “What happened?”

“My father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man. He was a great sword maker, my father. When the six-fingered man appeared and requested a special sword be made, my father took the job. He slaved a year before he was done: I’ve never seen its equal. The six-fingered man returned and demanded it, but for one-tenth of his promised price. My father refused. Without a word, the six-fingered man slashed him through the heart.” Inigo took a deep breath. “I loved my father. So naturally, I challenged his murderer to a duel. I failed. The six fingered man left me alive, but he gave me this.” Inigo gestured to the two identical scars on both sides of his face.

“How old were you?” The Doctor asked.

“I was eleven years old.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“When I was strong enough, I dedicated my life to the study of fencing. So the next time we meet, I will not fail. I will go up to the six-fingered man and say, ‘Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father, prepare to die.’”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Inigo bowed his head.

“And you’ve done nothing but study swordplay?”

“More pursuit than study lately.” Inigo said, “You see, I cannot find him. It’s been twenty years now and I’m starting to lose confidence. I just work for Vizzini to pay the bills. There’s not a lot of money in revenge.”

“Perhaps it’s time to let it go?” The Doctor suggested awkwardly.

“No.” Inigo said firmly. “I must find him.”

There was a long pause.

“Why have you followed us?” Inigo asked.

“You carry baggage of much value.” Westley said.

“We have no intention of selling.”

“That is your business.”

“And yours?”

There was no reply.

“Now, since you are still not recovered,” Inigo said to Westley, he looked at the Doctor, “I suppose I shall duel you first.”

“I warn you, that’s not the best idea.”

“Just do it, Doctor.” Westley rolled his eyes, “Show me that you were worthy enough to bring along.”

“Must you always be like this?”

“Like what?”

“You assume that it is me taking orders from you.”

“You are.”

“Am I?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“A duel then, yes.” The Doctor said to Inigo.

“To the death?” Inigo asked.

“Well, you are welcome to try, but I will not be killing you.”

“You seem a decent fellow,” Inigo said, “I hate to kill you.”

“You seem a decent fellow, I hate to die.”

“But one of us must.” Inigo said, “Begin.”

The Doctor removed the sword. It was unfriendly in his hand. But this was not the first sword he had ever held, and therefore had no trouble swinging it.

He noticed the way that Inigo swung with his sword hand – his left – but had been pulling up the rope dominantly with his right. He was clearly right handed, but for some reason, most likely strategy, was dueling with his left.

They touched swords and the Doctor immediately began in the Agrippa defense, which he felt was sound because it kept the feet stationary at first, and made chances of slipping minimal.

Steel clicked as Inigo’s sword was blocked by the Doctor’s. Inigo swung again, just missing as the Doctor slid out of the way.

Swords clashed and the Doctor could feel Westley’s eyes on him, studying his unexpected skill.

“You are using Bonetti’s defense against me, huh?” Inigo said.

“Well, I thought it fitting considering the rocky terrain.”

“Naturally. You must expect me to attack with Capo Ferro.”

“Of course, but Thibault cancels out Capo Ferro.”

“Unless the enemy has studied Agrippa.” Inigo said, “Which I have.”

Steel clashed once again and his legs flicked and Inigo was suddenly jumping out from behind a tree, attacking the Doctor, who retreated, stumbled, regained his balance and continued moving.

“You are wonderful!” Inigo said,

“Thank you, it took me a few hundred years to become so.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I’m just a bit more experienced.”

“I admit it, you are better than I am.” Inigo said. They were moving parallel to the cliffs now, and the trees were mostly behind them.

“Then why are you smiling?”

“Because I know something you don’t know.”

“If it’s handedness that you are alluding to, you are sorely mistaken.”

“You are incredible!”

The Doctor was slowly being forced toward a group of large boulders. Inigo continued to force until the boulders were surrounding them and then suddenly Inigo threw his body against a nearby rock, rebounded off it with impressive force, lunging with incredible speed.

The first to draw blood was Inigo. He had grazed the Doctor only along the left wrist. ‘Tis but a scratch, but it was indeed bleeding.

The Doctor changed his tactics, beginning to move in a more offensive style, drawing Inigo closer towards the cliffs.

“Who are you?” Inigo asked.

“Bit of a no-one, really.”

“I must know.” Inigo’s movements became more aggressive.

“I’m the Doctor.”

“I have never heard of you.” Inigo drew the Doctor away from the cliffs and they met in center plateau for one final assault. The sound of metal clashing metal rose. The Doctor’s sword was moving faster and faster until Inigo could no longer keep up and the Doctor easily disarmed him, the six-fingered sword flying from his hand. Inigo stood there, helpless. He then dropped to his knees, bowed his head, and closed his eyes in defeat.

“Do it quickly.”

The Doctor laughed. “I told you before, I’m not going to kill you.”

Suddenly, Westley was next to him and quickly clubbed Inigo in the head, knocking him unconscious.

“What did you do that for?”

“We can’t have him following us.”

The Doctor sheathed his sword, not wanting it to be out for too long with Westley around. He wasn’t about to tell the pirate that he had blunted the sword. It was just about as harmful as a large metal stick.


	3. Fizzik the Giant

The Doctor and Westley made their way into a clearing. It was empty, but the Doctor held out his arm for Westley to wait. There were large footprints leading to a bush.

Suddenly, Fezzik the giant lept from hiding and threw the rock with impressive power and perfect accuracy. It smashed into a boulder a foot away from the face of Westley.

“I did that on purpose,” Fezzik said then, picking up another rock, holding it ready. “I didn’t have to miss.”

“I believe you.” The Doctor said, cautiously approaching. “So, Fezzik, is it?”

“Yes, I am Fezzik.”

“How’d you end up working for Vizzini?”

“He hired me.”

“Yes, but a man of your strength, surely you could have found work.”

“I didn’t like the boos.”

“What?”

“People boo.”

“Oh.” The Doctor looked at him, “Why?”

“I don’t know.” Fezzik said sadly.

“Humans can be cruel.”

Fezzik nodded.

“You seem much too kind to be in the assassination business, Fezzik.” The Doctor observed.

“I admit, I don’t like it that much.”

“I could find you a place where you would be respected.”

“You could?” Fezzik looked up, his eyes full of hope.  
“Yes.”

“Where?”

“It’s very far away from here, but if you help us save Buttercup, I could bring you there.”

“But Vizzini…”

“What about him?”

“He will be most upset.”

“Let him be.”

“He will call me a coward.”

“There is a difference between being a coward and doing the right thing.”

“I’m very sorry, but I must do as Vizzini says.”

“Well, keep my offer in mind Fezzik.”

“Even after I kill you?”

“For as long as you desire a place to belong.”

The Doctor stepped back as Westley stepped forward, sword in hand.

“What now?”

“We face each other as was intended.” Fezzik said, “No tricks, no weapons, skill against skill alone.”

“You mean,” Westley said slowly, “you’ll put down your rock and I’ll put down my sword and we’ll try to kill each other like civilized people, is that it?”

“If you’d rather, I can kill you now,” Fezzik said gently as he raised the rock to throw. “I’m giving you a chance.”

“You are and I accept.” Westley said quickly. “Although, frankly, I think the odds are slightly in your favor at hand fighting.”

“I tell you what I tell everybody,” Fezzik explained. “I cannot help being the biggest and strongest; it’s not my fault.”

“I’m not blaming you.”

“Let’s get to it, then.” Fezzik said and he dropped the rock, getting into fighting position, watching as Westley moved towards him.

For a moment, no one moved.

“Why do you wear a mask and hood?” Fezzik asked, for Westley was wearing said items to avoid recognition.

“I think everybody will in the near future,” Westley replied, “They’re terribly comfortable.”

And with that, after a moment’s pause, they engaged. Fezzik let Westley fiddle around for a bit. The Doctor could tell he was testing the man’s strength, which was admittedly considerable for a human. Fezzik lifted and squeezed Westley, but the pirate managed to slide out of Fezzik’s grip and landed nicely.

“You are very quick.” Fezzik said.

“And a good thing too,” Westley commented.

They engaged again, this time, Fezzik immediately went to grab Westley, but no sooner had he reached his great hands out, Westley dropped, spun, and twisted out of the way, jumping up and holding him by the throat. His arms were locked around Fezzik’s windpipe, one in front, one behind. Fezzik ran at a bolder and, at the last moment, spun around so that Westley received the brunt of the charge. The Doctor winced as Westley made contact with the rock, but Westley’s grip on Fezzik’s windpipe grew ever tighter, and so Fezzik charged again, and again, and again, but still Westley would not release him. Fezzik clawed at Westley’s arms, but his knees hit the ground and he fell over, unconscious.

Westley climbed off the giant. The Doctor pushed Fezzik into his side in recovery position on his side. Westley sent him a questioning look.

“It’ll keep his airway clear.” The Doctor said, “Makes sure he won’t choke.”

Westley shrugged. “Only one more to fight.”

“Oh,” The Doctor said confidently, “I don’t think Vizzini’s going to want to fight.”


	4. Vazzini the Sicilian

“I’ll take this one.” Westley insisted. “You stay back.”

“Westley, Vizzini is going to do something intelligence-based, and I have a few hundred more years of knowledge than you –”

“Who’s in charge here?”

“Westley –”

“Just trust me. I know what I’m doing, I have a plan.”

“Fine. Just – just don’t kill him.”

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise anything.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes as he made his way on an alternate route so that he would be stationed just behind Vizzini, should this unknown plan fail.

As expected, the Sicilian was waiting quite patiently for the man in black; He had set out a little picnic spread and had taken out a small handkerchief and on it he had placed two wine goblets. In the center was a small leather wine holder and, beside it, some cheese and some apples. The spot could not have been lovelier: a high point of the mountain path with a splendid view all the way back to the Florin Channel. Buttercup lay helpless beside the picnic, gagged, tied, and blindfolded. Vizzini held up his long knife against her pale throat.

“Welcome,” Vizzini called when Westley was almost upon him.

Westley paused, surveying the situation.

“You’ve beaten my Turk.” Vizzini said.

“It would seem so.” Westley responded.

“But you also seem to have lost your partner.”

“That is how it appears, I’ll admit.”

“So now it is down to you, and it is down to me.”

“That would seem to be the situation.” Westley said, edging just a half-step closer to the Sicilian’s long knife.

With a smile, Vizzini pushed the knife harder against Buttercup’s throat. It was about to bring blood. “If you wish her dead, by all means keep moving.”

Westley froze.

“Better.” The Sicilian grinned. “I understand completely what you are trying to do.”  
“And whatever might that be?”

“You are trying to kidnap what I have rightfully stolen, and I think it quite ungentlemanly.”

“Well, certainly I wouldn’t want to give off that impression.” Westley grinned, taking a step forwards.

 _“You’re killing her!”_ Vizzini screamed, shoving harder with the knife. A drop of blood appeared now at Buttercup’s throat, crimson red against pale white.

Westley retreated back a step. “Let me explain –” he said again, but from a distance. Yet, Vizzini again interrupted him.

“There is nothing you can tell me that I do not already know. I have not had the schooling equal to some, but for knowledge outside of books, there is no one in the world close to me. People say I read minds, but that is not, in all honesty, true. I merely predict the truth using logic and wisdom, and I say you are a kidnapper, admit it.”

“I will admit that, as a random item, she has incredible value; nothing more.”

“I have been instructed to do certain things to her.” Vizzini said. “It is very important that I follow my instructions. If I do this properly, I will be in demand for life. And my instructions do not include ransom, they include death. So your explanations are meaningless; we cannot do business together. You wish to keep her alive for ransom, whereas it is terribly important to me that she stop breathing in the near future.”

“Has it occured to you that I have gone to great effort and expense, as well as personal sacrifice, to reach this point,” Westley replied. “And that if I fail now, I might get very angry. And if she stops breathing in the very near future, it is entirely possible that you will catch the same fatal illness?”

“I have no doubt that you could kill me,” Vizzini said, “Any man who can get by Inigo and Fezzik would have no trouble disposing of me. However, has it occurred to you that if you did, then neither of us would get what we want – you having lost your ransom item, me my life.”

“We are at an impasse, then.”

“I fear so.” Vizzini said, “I cannot compete with you physically, and you are no match for my brains.”

“Are you that smart?”

“There are no words to contain all my wisdom. I am so cunning, crafty, and clever, so filled with deceit, guile, and chicanery, such a knave, so shrewd, cagey as well as calculating, as diabolical as I am vulpine, as tricky as I am untrustworthy…well, I told you there were not words invited yet to explain how great my brain is, but let me put it this way: the world is several million years old and several billion people have at one time or another trod upon it, but I, Vizzini the Sicilian, am, speaking with pure candor and modesty, the slickest, sleekest, sliest, and wiliest fellow who has yet come down the pike.”

“In that case,” said Westley, “I challenge you to a battle of wits.”

Vizzini smiled, “For the Princess?”

“You read my mind.”

“It just seems that way, I told you. It’s merely logic and wisdom. To the death?”

“Correct again.”

“I accept,” cried Vizzini. “Begin the battle!”

“Pour the wine,” Westley said.

Vizzini filled the two goblets with a deep red liquid.

Westley pulled from his dark clothing a small packet and handed it to the hunchback. “Open it and inhale, but be careful not to touch.”

Vizzini took the packet and followed instructions. “I smell nothing.”

Westley took the packet again. “What you do not smell is called iocane powder. It is odorless, tasteless and dissolves immediately in any kind of liquid. It also happens to be the deadliest poison known to man.”

Vizzini was beginning to get excited.

“I don’t suppose you’d hand me the goblets,” said Westley.

Vizzini shook his head. “Take them yourself. My long knife does not leave her throat.”

Westley reached down for the goblets. He took them and turned away.

Vizzini cackled aloud in anticipation.

Westley busied himself for a long moment. Then he turned again with a goblet in each hand. Very carefully, he put the goblet in his right hand in front of Vizzini and put the goblet in his left hand across the kerchief from the hunchback. He sat down in front of the left-hand goblet, and dropped the empty iocane packet by the cheese.

“Your guess,” Westley said, “Where is the poison?”

 _“Guess?”_ Vizzini cried. “I don’t guess. I think. I ponder. I deduce. Then I decide. But I never guess.”

“The battle of wits has begun,” said Westley, “It ends when you decide and we drink the wine and find out who is right and who is dead. We both drink, need I add, and swallow, naturally, at precisely the same time.”

“It’s all so simple,” said the hunchback. “All I have to do is deduce, from what I know of you, the way your mind works. Are you the kind of man who would put the poison into his own glass, or into the glass of his enemy?”

“You’re stalling.”

“I’m relishing is what I’m doing,” answered VIzzini. “No one has challenged my mind in years and I love it… But the way, may I smell both goblets?”

“Be my guest. Just be sure to put them down the same way you found them.”

Vizzini sniffed his own glass; then he reached across the handkerchief for the goblet of the man in black and sniffed that. “As you said, odorless.”

“As I also said, you’re stalling.”

Vizzini smiled and stared at the wine goblets. “Now a great fool,” he began, “would place the poison in his own goblet, because he would know that only another great fool would reach first for what he was given. I am clearly not a great fool, so I will clearly not reach for your wine.”

“That’s your final choice?”

“No. Because you knew I was not a great fool, so you would know that I would never fall for such a trick. You would count on it. So I will clearly not reach for mine either.”

“Keep going.” said Westley.

“I intend to.” Vizzini reflected a moment. “We have now decided the poisoned cup is most likely in front of you. But the poison is powder made from iocane, and iocane comes only from Australia. Australia, as everyone knows, is peopled with criminals and criminals are used to having people not trusting them, as I don’t trust you, which means I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But again, you must have suspected I knew the origins of iocane, so you would have know I knew about the criminals and criminal behavior, and therefore I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

“Truly you have a dizzying intellect,” whispered Westley.

“You have beaten my Turk, which means you are exceptionally strong, and exceptionally strong men are convinced that they are too powerful ever to die, too powerful even for iocane poison, so you could have put it in your cup, trusting on your strength to save you; thus I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But you also bested my Spaniard, which means you must have studied, because he studied many years for his excellence, and if you can study, you are clearly more than simply strong; you are aware of how mortal we all are, and you do not wish to die, so you would have kept the poison as far from yourself as possible; therefore I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

“You’re just trying to make me give something away with all this chatter,” said Westley angrily. “Well, it won’t work. You’ll learn nothing from me, that I promise you.”

“I have already learned everything from you,” said the Sicilian. “I know where the poison is.”

“Only a genius could have deduced as much.”

“How fortunate for me that I happen to be one,” said Vizzini, growing more and more amused.

“You cannot frighten me,” said Westley.

“Shall we drink, then?”

“We shall.”

“What in the world could that be?” Vizzini suddenly shouted, pointing off behind Westley, who spun around. Vizzini swapped the glasses and began to laugh as Westley said,

“I don’t see anything.”

“Ih, well, I could have sworn I saw something, no matter.” He laughed again.

“I don’t understand what’s so funny.” Said Westley cautiously.

“Tell you in a minute,” said Vizzini, “But first let’s drink.” He picked up his own wine goblet.

They drank.

Westley grinned. “You guessed wrong.”

“HA!” Vizzini laughed, “You only _think_ I guessed wrong, that’s what’s so funny! I switched glasses when your back was turned!”

Westley looked at him, his face blank, unreadable.

“Fool!” Vizzini continued, “You fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous is ‘Never get involved in a land war in Asia,’ but only slightly less well known is this: ‘Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!’”

Vizzini laughed, and laughed, and laughed, his face turning redder, and redder, and redder, until he hit the ground, unconscious and unmoving.


	5. Across the Mountains

The Doctor made his way over to Westley, Buttercup, and the Sicilian, placing a finger on Vizzini, looking for a steady pulse. There was none.

“I told you not to kill him!” The Doctor shouted at the pirate.

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“I thought you were going to use a sedative, not poison him!”

“And have him come back for revenge, are you –”

“You can’t just kill people!”

“I can, I have, and I will.”

“No, you won’t!”

A muffled sound that sounded like an attempt to speak made the Doctor and Westley turn to Buttercup, Westley removed the blindfold and gag.

“I heard everything that happ –” Buttercup began, but then said “Oh…” as she saw the dead man at her feet. “You killed him…” She whispered faintly.

“I let him die laughing,” Westley said, “Pray I do as much for you.” The Doctor elbowed him, but he stepped forwards, lifted Buttercup up, slashed her bonds away, put her on her feet, and began to pull her along.

“Please,” Buttercup pleaded, “Give me a moment to gather myself.” Westley released his grip.

The young woman rubbed her wrists, stopped, massaged her ankles. She took a final look at the Sicilian. “To think, she murmured, “All that time it was your cup that was poisoned.”

“They both were poisoned.” Westley said, a grin on his face, “I’ve spent the past two years building up immunity to iocane powder.”

“Oooh, very clever,” The Doctor said sarcastically, “But do you know what would be more clever? Not killing your enemies!”

Westley rolled his eyes. Buttercup looked up at the two men, she looked frightened. “Who are you?”

“We are no one to be trifled with,” Westley replied for them, “That is all you ever need know.”

With that, Westley yanked Buttercup upright. “You’ve had your moment.” Again, he pulled her after him, she could do nothing but follow.

They moved along the mountain path, the moonlight was very bright and there were rocks everywhere.

“I will pay you a great deal of money to release me,” Buttercup managed to say, fear lining her voice.

“You’re rich, then?” Westley asked, glancing at her.

“I will be,” Buttercup said. “Whatever you want for ransom, I promise I’ll get it for you if you’ll let me go.” Westley laughed. “I was not speaking in jest.” Buttercup said.

“You promise? _You?_ I should release you on _your_ promise? What is that worth? The vow of a woman?”

“Oi!” The Doctor said, but Westley continued.

“Oh, that is very funny, Highness. Spoken in jest or not.”

They proceeded along the mountain path to an open space. Westley pulled them to a halt. He looked into the sky; there were a million stars fighting for prominence and for a moment, he seemed to be intent on nothing less than studying them all.

“I can name them, you know.” The Doctor said, for his eyes were also locked on the deep midnight sky, “Every star.”

“Did you study astrology as well as transdimensional physics, cliff scaling, sailing, and fencing?”

“Among other things.”

“Ah, Doctor, you remain a mystery.”

They spun off the path, heading into wild terrain, Westley pulling Buttercup behind him.

She stumbled; he pulled her to her feet again; again she fell; again he righted her.

“Just be patient, Captain.” The Doctor said, “She can’t keep up and we will go faster if we move at a steady pace rather than short bursts.”

Westley growled something rather rude and they continued at a slower pace, Buttercup sending a grateful glance towards the Doctor.

“Where are you taking me?” Buttercup asked as they continued on their way.

“Surely even someone as arrogant as you cannot expect me to give an answer.” Westley snapped.

“It does not matter if you tell or not.” Buttercup said, attempting to sound confident, but was much to timid to give off that impression. “He will find you.”

“‘He,’ Highness?”

“Prince Humperdinck.” Buttercup said, “There is no greater hunter. He can track a falcon on a cloudy day; he can find you.”

“You have confidence that your dearest love will save you, do you?” Westley said, he couldn’t hide the bite of jealousy in his voice, but Buttercup did not seem to pick up on that.

“I never said he was my dearest love,” Buttercup said defensively, “and yes, he will save me; that I know.”

“You admit you do not love your husband-to-be?” Westley said, “Fancy. An honest woman. You’re a rare specimen, Highness.”

“Oi!”

“The Prince and I have never, from the beginning, lied to each other. He knows I do not love him.”

“Are not capable of love is what you mean.” Westley spat.

“I’m very capable of love,” Buttercup said.

“Hold your tongue, I think.”

“I have loved more deeply than a killer like you can possibly imagine.”

Westley raised his arm to slap her, but the Doctor caught it mid-air.

“Don’t – you – dare.”

“You’re lucky he’s here.” Westley spat, “Consider that a warning. Where I come from, when a woman lies, there are consequences.”

They walked for hours and hours in silence, the Doctor insuring they kept at a steady pace.

It was close to dawn when they first saw the Armada.

They were making their way along the edge of a towering ravine. They paused,

“Your love comes, not alone,” Westley said, pointing back the way they came. “He must have ordered every ship in Florin after you: such a sight I have never seen.” He stared at the lanterns on all the ships as they moved.

“You can never escape him,” Buttercup said. “If you release me, I promise that you will come to no harm.”

“You are much too generous; I could never accept such an offer.”

“I offered you your life, that was generous enough.”

“ _Highness!”_ Westley said, his hand suddenly at her throat.

“Captain!” The Doctor grabbed the pirate and slammed him against a tree, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s fine.” Buttercup said boldly, “I know he will not kill me. You did not steal me from murderers to murder me yourself.”

“Wise as well as loving,” Westley said, he pulled her to her feet and they continued along the edge of the great ravine. It was hundreds of feet deep and filled with rocks and trees. Abruptly, Westley stopped, looking back at the Armada. “To be honest,” he said, “I had not expected quite so many.”

“You can never predict my Prince; that is why he is the greatest hunter.”

“Doctor,” Westley said, ignoring Buttercup, “what do you think: will he stay in one group or will he divide, some to search the coastline, some to follow Buttercup’s path on land?”

“If he’s as good of a hunter as Buttercup claims he is, I would assume he would follow the princess-to-be’s footsteps.”

Westley nodded. “Has he discussed things with you? His tactics?” He asked Buttercup. “What has he done in the past with many ships?”

“We do not discuss hunting, that I can assure you.” Buttercup said.

“Not hunting, not love, what do you talk about?” Westley inquired.

“We do not see all that much of each other.”

“Tender couple.”

“We are always very honest with each other.” Buttercup said, “Not everyone can say as much.”

“You are very cold, Highness.” Westley said, “Very cold and very young, and if you live, I think you’ll turn to hoarfrost –”

“ _Why do you pick at me?”_ She demanded, “I have come to terms with my life and that is my affair – I am not cold, I swear, but I have decided certain things, it is best for me to ignore emotion; I have not been happy dealing with it –” There was a moment of silence. “I did love once.” She said, “It worked out badly.”

“Another rich man?” Westley inquired, “Yes, and he left you for a richer woman.”

“No.” She said firmly, “Poor. Poor and it killed him.”

“Were you sorry? Did you feel pain? Admit that you felt nothing –”

“Do not mock my grief! _I died that day!”_

The Armada began to fire signal cannons. The explosions echoed through the mountains. Westley and the Doctor stared as the ships began to change formation.

While they were watching the ships, Buttercup shoved Westley with all her might, sending him falling into the Doctor.

Down they went.

Stumbling, torn, and reaching out to stop their descent, but the ravine was too steep and there was nothing that could be done.

They rolled over rocks and spun out of control. Finally, they rested far below, breathing heavily as they rested their aching bodies.

“ _You can die for all I care,”_ She said, and then she turned away.

Words followed her, whispered from Westley’s mouth, weak and warm, “As…you…wish…”

Buttercup spun back around, staring down, as the Doctor assisted Westley in removing his mask.

“Oh my sweet Westley,” Buttercup said from the top of the ravine, “What have I done now?”

Buttercup hurried down as fast as she possibly could, keeping on her feet as best as she could.

The Doctor helped Westley up as Buttercup made it to the bottom of the ravine, throwing herself into her beloved.

“As lovely as this is, we should keep going.” The Doctor said, “Allons-y!”


	6. Into the Fire Swamp

The moment Buttercup was down at the ravine bottom beside the Doctor and Westley, they knew the climb out would take too much time. The ravine bottom was flat rock and heading in the general direction that they wanted to go, so the three of them hurried along that way, well aware of the gigantic forces that were following them and, undoubtedly, cutting into their lead.

The ravine grew increasingly sheer as they went along and, as the Doctor soon found out, it became impossible to help Buttercup through it. But they had made their choice and there was no turning back now: wherever the ravine led was their destination.

“When I left you,” Westley said to Buttercup as they walked, “You were really more beautiful than anything I dared to dream. In our years apart, my imaginings did their best to improve on your perfection. At night, your face was forever behind my eyes. And now I see that that vision who kept me company in my loneliness was a hag compared to the beauty now before me.”

“Enough about my beauty.” Buttercup said, “Everybody always talks of how beautiful I am. I’ve got a mind, talk about that.”

“Throughout eternity I shall do that very thing.” Westley said, “But now we haven’t time.”

They went further and further through the ravine, when the Doctor suddenly turned to Westley,

“We’re going into a Fire Swamp.” He could smell the touch of sulphur in the breeze and see the flick of yellow flame far ahead in the daylight. “I expect the trackers are less than a half an hour behind us and gaining.”

Their pace quickened, faster and faster,

“With luck at all, we should soon be safely in the Fire Swamp.” Westley assured Buttercup.

The Doctor knew quite a bit about Fire Swamps, having come across them many times in his travels. Fire swamps were, if put simply, swamps that contain a large percentage of sulphur and other gas bubbles that spontaneously burst into flame. They are covered with lush, giant trees that shadow the ground, making the flame bursts seem particularly dramatic.

The Doctor was also aware the the Florin/Guilder Fire Swamp had some unique qualities: there was the existence of Snow Sand as well as the presence of Rodents Of Unusual Size, or R.O.U.S.. Snow Sand was usually incorrectly identified with Lightning Sand, but whereas Lightning Sand was moist and kills by drowning, Snow Sand is powdery and kills by suffocation.

Buttercup froze at the mouth of the Fire Swamp.

“You cannot ask it of me,” she said, “I once dreamed I would die here.”

“So did I, so did we all.” Westley said, “Were you eight that year? I was.”

“Eight, six, I can’t remember.”

“I have a knife,” Westley assured her, “I have my sword. I did not come across the world to lose you now.”

The three of them descended into the Fire Swamp.

 

The Doctor led the way, Westley and Buttercup following behind. The sudden bursts of flame were easily avoided because, just before they struck, there was a deep popping sound clearly coming from the vicinity where the flames would then appear.

The Doctor held his Sonic Screwdriver out as Westley carried his sword in his right hand, and his long knife in his left, waiting for the first R.O.U.S., but none appeared.

“This isn’t too bad,” Westley said, when suddenly Buttercup let out a yelp. The Doctor and Westley spun around only to see Buttercup disappear into the ground.

The Doctor and Westley both spun into action, the Doctor grabbing a vine and tying it around a tree, then around himself,

“When I tug on the rope, pull us up.” The Doctor instructed before diving in without hesitation.

The Doctor dove down as aerodynamically as possible, before slamming into another body. Grabbing Buttercup awkwardly around the waist with his right hand, the Doctor raised his left hand to tug on the rope, signaling for Westley to pull them up.

The two of them flew upwards, Westley dragging them out with all of his might.

Buttercup began violently coughing as she resurfaced, expelling the sand from her mouth. She collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion.

It was a good while before anyone said anything.

“We have far to go.” Westley finally said, the three of them standing up, but Buttercup grabbed the pirate’s wrist,

“Not until you tell me,” she replied, “Why must we endure this?”

“Now is not the time.” Westley held out his hand.

“She deserves to know.” The Doctor said, “She deserves to know everything, Westley.”

“Fine.” Westley said, “But we must keep moving.”

They began a steady walk. “We must get through the Fire Swamp for one good and simple reason. We had always intended getting to the far side; We had not, I must admit, expected to go through. Around, was our intention, but the ravine forced us to change our plans.”

“The good and simple reason,” Buttercup prompted.

“On the far end of the Fire Swamp is the mouth of Giant Eel Bay.” The Doctor explained, “And anchored far out in the deepest waters of that bay is the great ship, _Revenge._ The _Revenge_ is the sole property of the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

“The man who killed you?” Buttercup said, turning to Westley, “That man? The one who broke my heart? The Dread Pirate Roberts took your life, that was the story I was told.”

“Quite correct,” Westley said. “And that ship is our destination.”

“You know the Dread Pirate Roberts? You are friendly with such a man?”

“It’s a little more than that,” Westley said. “I don’t expect you to quite grasp this all at once; just believe me, it’s true. You see, I _am_ the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

“I fail to see how that is possible, since he has been marauding for twenty years and you only left me three years ago.”

“I myself am often surprised at life’s little quirks,” Westley admitted.

“Did he, in fact, capture you when you were sailing for the Carolinas?” Butter cup asked.

“He did. His ship, _Revenge,_ captured the ship I was on, _The Queen’s Pride_ , and we were all to be put to death.”

“But Roberts did not kill you.”

“Clearly.”

“Why?”


	7. The Tale of the Dread Pirate Roberts

“I cannot say for sure, but I think it is because I asked him please not to. The ‘please,’ I suspect, aroused his interest. I didn’t beg or offer bribery, as others were doing. At any rate, he held off with his sword long enough to ask, ‘Why should I make an exception for you?’ and I explained my mission, how I had to get to America to get money to reunite me with the most beautiful woman ever reared by man. ‘I doubt that she is as beautiful as you imagine,’ he said, and he raised his sword again. ‘Hair the colour of autumn,’ I said, ‘and skin like wintry cream.’  ‘Wintry cream, eh?’ he had said. So I went on describing the rest of you, and at the end, I knew I had convinced him of the truth of my affection for you. ‘I’ll tell you, Westley,’ he said then, ‘I feel genuinely sorry about this, but if I make an exception in your case, news will get out that the Dread Pirate Roberts has gone soft and that will mark the beginning of my downfall, for once they stop fearing you, piracy becomes nothing but work, work, work all the time, and I am far too old for such a life.’ ‘I swear I will never tell, not even my beloved,’ I said; ‘and if you will let me live, I will be your personal valet and slave for five full years, and if I ever once complain or cause you anger, you may chop my head off then and there and I will die with praise for your fairness on my lips.’ I knew I had him thinking. ‘Go below,’ he said. ‘I’ll most likely kill you tomorrow.’”

Westley stopped for a moment.

“What happened tomorrow?” Buttercup urged.

“Well, you know what an industrious fellow I am; you remember how I liked to learn and how I’d already trained myself to work twenty hours a day. I decided to learn what I could about piracy in the time left allotted me, since it would at least keep my mind off of my oncoming slaughter. So I helped the cook and I cleaned the hold and, in general, did whatever was asked of me, hoping that my energies might be favorably noted by the Dread Pirate Roberts himself. ‘Well, I’ve come to kill you,’ he said the next morning, and I said, ‘Thank you for the extra time; it’s been most fascinating; I’ve learned such a great deal,’ and he said, ‘Overnight? What could you learn in that time?’ and I said, ‘That no one had ever explained to your cook the difference between table salt and cayenne pepper.’ ‘Things have been a bit fiery this trip,’ he admitted. ‘Go on, what else?’ and I explained that there would have been more room in the hold if boxes had been stacked differently, and then he noticed that I had completely reorganized things down there and, fortunately for me, there _was_ more room, and finally he said, ‘Very well, you can be my valet for a day. I’ve never had a valet before; probably I won’t like it, so I’ll kill you in the morning.’ Every night for the next year he always said something like that for me: ‘Thank you for everything, Westley, good night now, I’ll probably kill you in the morning.’

“By the end of that year, of course, we were more than valet and master. He was a pudgy little man, not at all fierce, as you would expect the Dread Pirate Roberts to be, and I like to think he was fond of me as I of him. By then, I had learned really quite a great deal about sailing and hand fighting and fencing and throwing the long knife and had never been in as excellent physical condition. At the end of one year, my captain said to me, ‘Enough of this valet business, Westley, from now on you are my second-in-command,’ and I said, ‘Thank you, sir, but I could never be a pirate,’ and he said, ‘You want to get back to that autumn-haired creature of yours, don’t you?’ and I didn’t even have to bother answering that. ‘A good year or two of piracy and you’ll be rich and back you go,’ and I said, ‘Your men have been with you for years and they aren’t rich,’ and he said, ‘That’s because they are not the captain. I am hoping to retire soon, Westley, and the _Revenge_ will be yours.’ I must admit, beloved, I weakened a bit there, but we reached no final decision. Instead, he agreed to let me assist him in the next few captures and see how I liked it. Which I did.”

The Doctor noticed two R.O.U.S. following them.

“Not only did I like it,” Westley continued, “But it turned out I was talented, as well. So talented that Roberts said to me one April morning, ‘Westley, the next ship is yours; let’s see how how you do.’ That afternoon we spotted a fat Spanish beauty, loaded for Madrid. I sailed up close. They were in panic. ‘Who is it?’ their captain cried. ‘Westley,’ I told him. ‘Never heard of you,’ he answered, and with that they opened fire.

“Disaster. They had no fear of me at all. I was so flustered that I did everything wrong, and soon they got away. I was, do I have to add, disheartened. Roberts called me to his cabin. I slunk in like a whipped boy. ‘Buck  up,’ he told me, and then he closed the door and we were quite alone. ‘What I am about to tell you I have never said before and must guard it closely.’ I of course said I would. ‘I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts,’ he said, ‘my name is Ryan. I inherited this ship from the previous Dread Pirate Roberts just as you will inherit it from me. The man I inherited from was not the real Dread Pirate Roberts either; his name was Cummberbund. The real original Dread Pirate Roberts has been retired fifteen years and has been living like a king in Patagonia.’ I confessed my confusion. ‘It’s really very simple,’ Ryan explained. ‘After several years, the original Roberts was so rich he wanted to retire. Clooney was his friend and first mate, so he gave this ship to Clooney, who had an identical experience to yours: the first ship he attempted to board nearly blew him out of the water, so Roberts, realizing the name was the thing that inspired the necessary fear, sailed the _Revenge_ to port, changed crews entirely, and Clooney told everyone that he was the Dread Pirate Roberts, and who was to know he was not? When Clooney retired rich, he passed the name to Cummberbund, Cummberbund to me, and I, Felix Raymond Ryan, of Boodle, outside Liverpool, now dub thee, Westley, the Dread Pirate Roberts. All we need is to land, take on some new young pirates. I will sail along for a few days as Ryan, your first mate, and will tell everyone about my years with you, the Dread Pirate Roberts. Then you will let me off when they are all believers, and the waters of the world are yours.’” Westley smiled at Buttercup. “So now you know. And you should also realize why it is foolish to be afraid.”

“But I am afraid.”

Without warning, one of the R.O.U.S. attacked from above, an unusual tactic for such a creature. It slammed into the Doctor, sinking its teeth into the Doctor’s shoulder through his trenchcoat, knocking him to the ground. The other who that had been following launched their attack then too, ignoring Buttercup and Westley, and diving forwards with all their hungry strength to the Doctor’s bleeding shoulder.

The Doctor raised the Sonic Screwdriver into the air and the shrill screech of it sent the R.O.U.S. fleeing, running in chaos, knocking him into a spurt of flame.

The R.O.U.S. disappeared from view, the Doctor began to move quickly, removing his trenchcoat and holding it against his shoulder to try to stem the bleeding.

“What is that?” Westley asked as the Doctor secured the fabric around his shoulder.

“Sonic Screwdriver.” The Doctor said, pushing through the pain that enveloped his shoulder. “Come on, we’re almost at the other side.”

“Are you sure you’re all right to keep moving?” Buttercup asked as the Doctor got up.

“Yes, come on, we can’t slow our pace now.”

They had been in the Fire Swamp for one hour, and it turned out to be the easiest one they had of the six it took to cross it. But they did make it across.

It was nearly dusk when they at last saw the great ship, _Revenge,_ far out in the deepest part of the bay. The Doctor, beaten and bruised, pushed his way out of the swamp first. Leading the way through the swamp did have its drawbacks.

Westley sank to his knees in defeat, for before them and the _Revenge_ were more than a few inconveniences. From the north, sailed in half the great Armada. From the south, the other half. A hundred mounted horsemen, armored and armed were in front of them; Out alone in front of all were four white horses with the Prince astride the leader.

“I accept your surrender,” The Doctor grinned.

“I am not the one who shall be surrendering, that will be you.” The Prince proclaimed. “I credit you with bravery; Don’t make yourself a fool.”

What is so foolish about winning?” Westley asked confidently, “In order to capture us, you will have to come into the Fire Swamp. We have spent many hours here now; we know where the Snow Sand waits. I doubt that you or your men will be any too anxious to follow us in here, and by morning we will have slipped away.

“I doubt that somehow,” said the Prince, and he gestured out to sea. Half the Armada had begun to give chase to the great ship, _Revenge._ And the _Revenge,_ alone, was sailing as it had to do, away. “Surrender,” The Prince commanded.

“I don’t think so.” The Doctor said.

“SURRENDER!” The Prince shouted.

“DEATH FIRST!” Westley roared.

“Wait!” Buttercup suddenly shouted, the world seemed to freeze. “Will you promise not to hurt them?” She whispered.

“What was that?” The Prince and Westley said at once.

Buttercup took a step forwards and said, “If we surrender, freely and without struggle, if life returns to what it was one dusk ago, will you swear not to hurt these men?”

Prince Humperdinck raised his right hand: “I swear on the grave of my soon-to-be-dead father and the soul of my already-dead mother that I shall not hurt these men, and if I do, may I never hunt again thought I live a thousand years.”

Buttercup turned to Westley and the Doctor. “There,” she said. “You can’t ask for more than that, and that is the truth.”

“The truth,” said Westley, “is that you would rather live with your Prince than die with your love.”

“I would rather live than die, I admit.”

“We were talking of love, madam.” There was a long pause. Then Buttercup said,

“I can live without love.”

And with that, she left Westley and the Doctor to stand next to the Prince. As she crossed, the Doctor noticed the Prince whisper something the man beside him, Count Rugen, who nodded, but made no move to do anything.

“They belongs to the ship, _Revenge,”_ Buttercup said. “They are –” She paused. “Simple sailors and I have know them since childhood. Will you arrange that?”

“Must I swear again?”

“No need,” Buttercup said.

“Come along, my Princess.” He took her hand and the two took their leave.

The Doctor and Westley stood at the edge of the Fire Swamp. It was darker now, but the flame spurts behind them outlined their faces. They were both exhausted.

“Come gentlemen.” Count Rugen approached, “We must get you safely to your ship.”

“We are both men of action.” The Doctor said, staring angrily into the man’s eyes. “Lies do not become us.”

The Doctor raised his Sonic, all the men clasped their hands over their ears, Westley, receiving the message, sprinted off back into the Fire Swamp. The Doctor made to follow but was tackled, his Sonic flying from his fingers, and held against the ground by Count Rugen himself.

“Well spoken.” He said, “But don’t worry, we don’t need him.” And with one sudden swing, he clubbed the Doctor over the head and the world went dark.


	8. Attempted Torture

The Doctor awoke chained in a giant cage. His shoulder was beginning to fester from the gnawing and digging that the R.O.U.S. had done into his flesh. He ignored his discomfort, as it was already healing, to try and analyze his surroundings.

The dankness and lack of windows told him that he was underground. From somewhere above him, he could hear animal sounds: but not squirrels, birds, or chipmunks as would be in a normal forest, but the roars of lions and yelps of cheetahs.

Shortly after his return to consciousness, an albino appeared, bloodless, with skin as pale as dying birch. The candlelight that served to illuminate the cage made the albino look as though he had never seen the sun. He held a tray that carried bandages, food, healing powders, and brandy.

“Hello,” The Doctor smiled, “Who’re you, then?”

The albino shrugged.

“Right, where are we, then?”

He shrugged again.

“Right…Do you not speak? If you release my hands I can sign to you.”

He shook his head.

“All right then, not a talker. I can talk for the both of us.” The Doctor grinned.

The Doctor continued to speak as the albino dressed his wound, feed him warm food, and slowly glided out of sight.

Despite the Doctor’s apparent confidence, he was concerned. Knowing the kinds of people the Prince and Count were, it was not unreasonable to believe that they would do their best to make him suffer. Sure, he had been tortured loads of times before, but it wasn’t fun. He just had to prepare, he wouldn’t let them break him.

 

The night they began to torture the Doctor, Count Rugen did the actual pain inflicting. The Prince simply sat by, asking questions out loud, inwardly admiring the Count’s skill. The Count really cared about pain, the whys behind the screams seemed to interest him fully as much as the anguish itself. And, whereas the Prince spent his life in physically following the hunt, Count Rugen read and studied anything he could get his hands on dealing with the subject of distress.

“All right now,” the Prince said to the Doctor, who lay in the great cage; “before we begin, I want you to answer me this: have you any complaints about your treatment thus far?”

“Well, I’ve been chained up, that’s not ideal.”

“But other than that –”

“No.”

“You feel fit then?”

“I suppose.”

“Good. Then I promise you this: answer my next question and I will set you free this night. But you must answer it honestly, fully, withholding nothing. If you lie, I will know. And then I’ll loose the Count on you.”

“Brilliant.” The Doctor grinned, “Ask away.”

“Who hired you to kidnap the Princess? It was someone from Guilder. We found fabric indicating as much on the Princess’s horse. Tell me that man’s name and you are free. Speak.”

“See, I wasn’t hired.” The Doctor said, “Me and my mate were just sailing around and witnessed the kidnapping from one, Vizzini the Sicilian, so we followed him and saved the Princess. He is dead now.”

“You seem a reasonable fellow, and my Princess claims to have known you many years, so I will give you, on her account, one last and final chance: the name of the man in Guilder who hired you. Tell me or face torture.”

“I already told you, would you like me to repeat?”

The Count set fire to the Doctor’s hands. Nothing permanent or disabling, he just dipped the Doctor’s hands in oil and brought a candle close enough to set things bubbling.

“Well, this unpleasant.” The Doctor frowned.

The Count, looking angry, pushed it closer.

“Now, that’s just rude.” The Doctor said, hissing in pain as his fingers burned and he shook with pain, but never let his voice waver.

“Clearly we need something stronger.” The Prince said, Count Rugen nodded in agreement.

“Clearly.”


	9. The Machine

When Count Rugen appeared with ‘The Machine,’ The Doctor was not particularly perturbed. So far, they were unsuccessful in breaking the Time-Lord; he had endured much worse torture, this wasn’t that bad, he just had to keep his optimism.

It was actually the albino that was doing the work with the machine, making trip after trip with thing after thing.

“A good, good evening to you.” The Count began, the Doctor smiled at him, causing him to growl in anger. They had long since gagged the Doctor to keep him from speaking.

“This is the Machine.” The Count gestured to the large machine as the albino scurried out of the room, leaving them alone. “I’ve spent eleven years constructing it. As you can tell, I’m rather excited and proud.”

The Doctor narrowed his eyes, taking in everything he could about the machine, how it was designed, what each function did, how it worked, what it would do to him.

“I’m very interested in pain,” The Count said.

“Clearly.” The Doctor mumbled through his gag.

“In an intellectual way, actually,” The Count continued, “I’ve written, of course, for the more learned journals on the subject. Articles mostly. At the present, I’m engaged in writing a book. My book. _The_ book, I hope. The definitive work on pain, at least as we know it now.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow.

“I think pain is most underrated.” The Count said, “The Serpent, to my interpretation, was pain. Pain has been with us always, and it always irritates me when people say, ‘as important as life and death,’ because the proper phrase, to my mind, should be ‘as important as pain and death.’”

“Life is more than pain.” The Doctor said, muffled by the gag.

“No, it is not.” The Count spat. “One of my theories,” he went on, “is that pain involves anticipation. Nothing original, I admit, but I’m going to demonstrate to you what I mean: I will not, underline _not_ , use the Machine on you this evening. I could, it’s ready to be tested, but instead I will simply erect it and leave it beside you, for you to stare at for the next twenty-four hours wondering just what it is and how it works and can it really be as dreadful as all that.”

“I’ve had worse.” The Doctor’s muffled voice said.

“I don’t think so.” Count Rugen smiled cruelly. “I’ll leave it to your imagination then.” He said, taking his leave.

The Doctor sat there in silence for a while, bored and inspecting his slowly healing fingers, still red and raw. They’d be fixed by the morning.

Soon, the albino came, knelt by the Doctor, removing the gag, and whispered:

“I’ve been watching you all these days. You deserve better than what’s coming. I’m needed. No one else feeds the beasts as I do. I’m safe. They won’t hurt me. I’ll kill you if you’d like. That would foil them. I’ve got some good poison. I beg you, I’ve seen the Machine. I was there when they tested it, please let me kill you. You’ll thank me, I swear.”

The Doctor shook his head, “Nah, I’ll be fine.”

“But –”

“Don’t worry about me.” The Doctor smiled, “I’ve been through worse.”

“What could be worse than –”

“Listen, I’ve been shot, stabbed, killed countless times, electrocuted, tortured in billions of ways from places much more advanced than here. This little machine won’t be a big deal.”

 

“Well, could you sleep?” The Count asked the next night upon his arrival in the cage.

“Oh, yes, it was lovely.” The Doctor smiled.

The Count put down a number of notebooks, quill pens, and ink bottles. “I must carefully track your reactions.” He explained.

“Well, I must admire your scientific method if nothing else.”

“If my experiments are valid, my name will last beyond my body. It’s immorality I’m after, to be quite honest.”

“Yes, well,” The Doctor said, “If you let me go, I can do that for you. If you don’t, I can make sure no one will ever hear of your name again.”

“You have not that power.”

“I may surprise you.”

“I suppose you’re naturally curious as to how this works.” The Count said, continuing with his plan.

“I suppose so, yes. If I’m not mistaken, that looks like a poorly put together –”

“IT IS NOT POORLY PUT TOGETHER!” The Count shouted in outrage, “IT IS A PERFECTLY DESIGNED MACHINE OF TORTURE!”

The Count replaced the gag in the Doctor’s mouth and got to work, taking cup after cup, touching the soft rims with glue, and setting them against the Doctor’s pale skin.

He did this until every exposed inch of the Doctor’s skin was covered. He removed the gag.

“Tell me, are you really as brave as you sound, or are you a little frightened? Tell the truth, please. This is for posterity, remember.”

“I’m not frightened, I’ve dealt with worse torture than anything you could inflict on me.”

The Count scoffed, jotting something down on one of his notebooks. Then, he got down to the fine work, and soon there were tiny soft rimmed cups on the insides of the Doctor’s nostrils, against his eardrums, under his eyelids, above and below his tongue, and before the Count arose, the Doctor was covered inside and out with the things.

“Now all I do,” the Count said, “Is get the wheel going to its fastest spin so that I have more than enough power to operate. The dial can be set from one to twenty and, this being the first time, I will set it at the lowest setting, which is one. Then, all I need do is push the lever forward and we should, if I haven’t gummed it up, be in full operation.”

The lever moved and the Machine began. The Doctor braced himself, but was unprepared for what was to come. The cups were everywhere, the Machine reached everywhere and he felt his life energy being sucked away, wreaking havoc in his body and mind.

The Doctor let out a scream as his life force was being ripped apart.

Then it was gone. The Count had turned off the machine. He picked up his notebook. “As you no doubt know, the concept of this suction pump is centuries old – well, basically, that’s all this is, except instead of water, I’m sucking –”

“Life.” The Doctor finished. “I’m very sorry, but I’m not your best choice of test subject.”

“And why is that?”

“Your data will be all wrong, see I’m not human, so I’m useless.”

“Not human.” The Count gasped, running along, checking the data, checking the vitals. “Oh, but now you see, you will be even more fascinating to study.”

“Then you’re going to have to try a lot harder than that to break me.”

“Oh,” The Count grinned maniacally, “I will.”

 

It had been weeks since that first day, when suddenly, the cage door was torn open and Prince Humperdinck burst in, anger and insanity in his eyes.

“She loves you.” He cried. “She loves you still and you love her!”

“What?” The Doctor was genuinely confused.

“Are you not Westley of the Dread Pirate Roberts’ crew?”

Aware that if he said anything else, the real Westley would be hunted down and killed, the Doctor responded.

“Yes, I am.”

“The Princess, she loves you! And you love her!”

“Yes.”

“Then think of that – think of this too: In all this world, you might have been happy, genuinely happy. Not one couple in a century has that chance, not really, no matter what the storybooks say, but you could have had it, and so, I would think, no one will ever suffer a loss as great as you.”

With that, Prince Humperdinck grabbed the dial and pushed it all the way forwards as the Count cried out “Not to twenty!” But by then it was too late; the Doctor began to scream as he reached out desperately for his regeneration energy: energy that wasn’t there.


	10. The Infiltration

The Doctor gasped, eyes flying open and head spinning. “Rassilon, that hurt!”

“You’re alive!” The voice of the giant, Fezzik, brough the Doctor to his surroundings. He was on the ground on a bridge of some sort, Fezzik, Inigo, and Westley looking down at him from above.

The Doctor attempted to move, attempted to stand and figure out their plan, but it was like his muscles didn’t exist. He was paralyzed, he couldn’t even move his head.

“Why can’t I move?” The Doctor demanded, trying to keep the fear from lacing his voice.

“You’ve been dead.” Inigo explained.

“Oh.” The Doctor said, “How do I look, then?”

“What?” The three of them looked at the Doctor in confusion.

“You look fine, I suppose.” Inigo said, “Why?”

The Doctor furrowed his eyebrows, “Am I ginger?”

“No…Your hair is just the same as ever…” Westley said in confusion, “Are you all right, Doctor?”

“I’ve not regenerated?”

“What does that even mean?”

“Doesn’t matter, what’s happening?”

“We got Miracle Max to make you a resurrection pill,” Inigo explained, “It works for sixty minutes.”

“And after sixty minutes?”

“I expect you’ll probably just collapse and need tending too for a year or however long it takes to get your strength back.”

“I’ll probably end up going into a healing comma.” The Doctor said, “So we ought to move quickly.” He then remembered that his body couldn’t move. “Er, I can’t move my legs.”

“Max said that it will come; the tongue and brain were shoo-ins, you’ll slowly gain more mobility as we continue.”

“Right, West,” The Doctor said cheerily, moving his eyes to the pirate captain, “What’s going on with Buttercup?”

“Don’t call me that.” Westley said, but before he could say anything else, Inigo said,

“There is too much to tell, let me distill it for you: the wedding is at six, which leaves us probably now something over half an hour to get in, steal the girl, and get out; but not before I kill Count Rugen.”

“Don’t kill him.” The Doctor said, “I can take care of him after this, trust me. Now, what are our liabilities?”

“There is one working castle gate and it’s guarded by a hundred men.” Westley answered.

“Brilliant.” The Doctor said, “Then we better get to it.”

Fezzik helped the Doctor up, carrying all of his weight as they made their way towards the castle.

“Right, I’ve got a plan.” Westley said, “We need to get the albino’s wheelbarrow and find some sort of holocaust cloak.”

“I’ve got one.” Fezzik said, pulling one out.

“Where’d you get that?” Inigo asked.

“While you were after frog dust –” Fezzik answered, “It fit so nice, I just tucked it away and kept it.”

“Brilliant. Allons-y!”

 

It was Westley who helped the Doctor down the hill as Inigo struggled with the wheelbarrow, Fezzik standing in it. As they approached the main gate, he stood tall, arms wide, eyes blazing, his voice echoing and reverberating as his rage increased, “I AM THE DREAD PIRATE ROBERTS AND THERE WILL BE NO SURVIVORS!” He was standing there, gliding down through the darkness, quite an imposing figure, seeming all in all, probably close to ten feet tall, with voice to match, “NO SURVIVORS, NO SURVIVORS!”

The gate guards scattered.

 

They made their way to the locked gate. “I haven’t got my Sonic –” The Doctor began, but Westley smiled victoriously as he produced the Doctor’s Sonic Screwdriver from his pocket.

“I saw it on the table in the cage and thought I should grab it.”

“Oh, Westley, you are brilliant!” The Doctor grinned, “Just point and press the button.”

Westley did so and the gate opened with a click.

“It’s 5:30 now,” The Doctor warned, “We have a half an hour to stop the wedding.”

Before anyone could say anything, Inigo cried out and readied his sword. Count Rugen and four palace guards were rounding a corner and running towards them.

It was now 5:34.


	11. A False Marriage

The Count’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the Doctor.

“Kill them,” he said to the fencers, “but leave the lanky one until I tell you.”

“Oi! Lanky?”

But the fencers were too late; too late and too slow, because as Westley drew his sword to protect the Doctor, Inigo attacked, the great blade blinding and the fourth guard was dead before the first one had had a sufficient time to hit the floor.

“You didn’t have to kill them!” The Doctor shouted, but Inigo ignored him, staring directly into the eyes of his father’s murderer.

“Hello,” he said, “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

The Count’s expression darkened, he faced Inigo, then sprinted as fast as he could in the other direction.

It was now 5:37.

 

Inigo and Fezzik went after Count Rugen whilst the Doctor and Westley made their way to the Princess’s chambers, the Doctor slowly gaining mobility.

Without warning, they were confronted with maybe fifteen soldiers.

“I’ll get Buttercup,” The Doctor promised, “I need you to fight them off, buy as much time as you can.”

“Are you sure you can –”

“Yes!” The Doctor said, “I just need time.”

“I got your back.” Westley said, parrying the blows of multiple swords as the Doctor used the wall for support to make his way into the princess’s chambers.

It was 5:48

 

The Doctor made his way in silently, Buttercup had a knife just inches above her chest.

“Be careful with those, they’re sharp you know.”

Buttercup nearly jumped a foot in the air, she spun around to find the Doctor casually lying on her bed.

“DOCTOR!” She ran to him, “Where’s Westley, did he come? Is he here? Is he all right?”

“He’s fighting men outside your door as we speak, now, we ought to get out of here.”

“But Doctor, does he want me anymore?” Buttercup asked.

“Of course he does, why wouldn’t he?”

“I got married, Doctor. The priest, he said man and wife.”

“And did you say ‘I do?’”

“What?”

“Did you say ‘I do?’”

“Well, no…”

“In the Roman Catholic Church, there are four elements that make a valid marriage. The spouses are free to marry, they have the intention to marry for life and to be faithful to one another, the witness of a properly authorized Church member and that they freely exchange their consent. Your consent was not given, and therefore your marriage was invalid. Don’t you agree, your Highness?”

Buttercup spun around only to see Prince Humperdinck standing in the doorway. He pointed his sword at the Doctor. “To the death.”

“No.” The Doctor said calmly.

“What?”

“I will not kill you.” The Doctor spat. “I will not stoop to the level of a pathetic prince, desperate for a beautiful woman who will never love him.”

“I think you’re bluffing.” The Prince said confidently. “You have been prisoner for a month and I myself killed you less than a day ago, so I doubt that you have much left in you.”

“Possibly true,” The Doctor said calmly, “I could be bluffing, I could be lying here right now because I lack the strength to stand.”

It was 5:52 now. The Prince smirked.

“But perhaps I have the strength after all.”

The Doctor sent a large burst of adrenaline through his body, allowing his legs to stand and approach the man, fire blazed through his eyes, fury filling his form. The fury of a Time Lord. The fury of the last Time Lord.

“Drop your sword.”

The Prince’s sword crashed to the floor.

It was now 5:55. He still had twenty minutes.

The Doctor’s eyes rolled up into his head and his body crumpled and hit the floor.


	12. The Rescue

The Doctor opened his eyes only a few seconds later, his vision blurry, his whole body shaking from exertion.

Buttercup was standing there, holding the knife she had been planning to kill herself with to Prince Humperdinck’s throat just as Westley burst into the room.

“Tie him up.” The Doctor instructed. Westley complied as Buttercup held the Prince at knifepoint. The Doctor hoisted himself back onto the bed, trying to keep the adrenaline flowing.

“He’s tied down.” Westley reported.

The door burst open again and Inigo came flying in, caked in blood. He looked around

“Where’s Fezzik?”

“Isn’t he with you?” Westley asked, grabbing the Doctor and helping him up.

“Did you at least win your battle?” Westley asked the Spaniard.

“I did.”

“Inigo,” The Doctor said, “lay down on the bed, I need to stitch your wound.”

Inigo complied as the Doctor removed a first aid kit from his pocket.

“How do you fit so much in your pockets?” Westley asked.

“Just wait until you see the inside of the first aid kit.” The Doctor grinned, pulling it open to reveal thousands of different supplies. He pulled out a thin metal beam and flicked a lever on the bottom and turned six or seven dials.

He revealed the Spaniard of his tunic and, after cleaning the blood off of him, dragged the beam across the broken skin. Inigo hissed in pain, but the wound closed, leaving nothing but what looked like a two day old scar.

“What’s that?” The three gathered around the Doctor, but before anything else could be said, there was a voice:

“Inigo!” It called, “I need you, please, Inigo! I’m lost and miserable and frightened and I just need to see a friendly face!”

“Fezzik!” Inigo ran to the window, Buttercup right behind him, and Westley carrying the Doctor, who could feel his consciousness slipping once again.

 _"Four_  friendly faces!” Fezzik said, bouncing up and down on his heels, he was holding five white horses by the reigns. “Oh, Inigo, I just ruined everything and I got so lost and when I stumbled into the stables and found these pretty horses, I thought five was how many of them there were and five was how many of us there were too, if you found the lady – hello, lady – and I thought, why not take them along with me in case we all ever run into each other.” He stopped a moment, considering. “And I guess we did.”

“Fezzik, this was brilliant!” The Doctor called.

“You thought for yourself!” Inigo cried.

Fezzik considered that a moment as well. “Does that mean you’re not mad at me for getting lost?”

“If only we had a ladder –” Buttercup began.

“Oh, you don’t need a ladder to get down here,” Fezzik said, “It’s only twenty feet, I’ll catch you, only do it one at a time, please; there’s not enough light, so if you ll come at once, I might miss.”

So whilst Prince Humperdinck struggled, they jumped, one at a time, and Fezzik caught them gently and put them on the white horses, and the Doctor had the Sonic, so they could still get out the front gate, except for the fact that the gatekeeper stood in their way along with as many guards as he seemed to be able to gather.

“I’m dry of notions.” Westley said.

“Child’s play.” Of all people, Buttercup said, and she led the group towards the gatekeeper. “The Count is dead; the Prince is in grave danger. Hurry now and you may yet save him. All of you. Go.”

Not a single person moved.

“They obey me,” the gatekeeper said. “And I am in charge of enforcement and –”

“And _I,_ ” Buttercup said with overwhelming authority, “ _I,”_ She repeated, standing up in the saddle, a creature of infinite beauty and eyes that were starting to grow frightening, “ _I_ , _”_ She said for the third and last time, “am the _QUEEEEEEEEEEN!”_

There was no doubting in her sincerity. Or power. Or capability for vengeance. She stared imperiously across the rows of men.

“Save Humperdinck,” One man said, and with that they dashed into the castle.

“Save Humperdinck,” The gatekeeper said, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it.

“Actually, that was something of a fib,” Buttercup said as they began to ride for freedom, “seeing as Lotharon hasn’t officially resigned, but I thought, ‘I am the Queen’ sounded better than ‘I am the Princess.’”

“All I can say is, I’m impressed.” Westley told her.

Buttercup shrugged. “I’ve been going to royalty school three years now; _something_ had to rub off.” She looked at the Doctor, “You all right? I was worried about you back on the bed there. Your eyes rolled up into your head and everything.”

“Yes, suppose I was dying again…”

The five great horses seemed almost to fly towards the Florin Channel.

“It appears to me as if we’re doomed, then.” Buttercup said to Westley.

“Doomed?” Westley looked at her.

“To be together. Until one of us dies.”

“I suppose we are.” Westley smiled, planting a kiss on her cheek.

From behind them, suddenly closer than they had imagined, they could hear the roar of Humperdinck: “Stop them! Cut them off!” They were, admittedly, startled, but there was no reason for worry: they were on the fastest horses in the kingdom, and the lead was already theirs.

But that was before the Doctor’s eyes rolled back into his head again and he hit the ground.


	13. A Happy Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I chose to write this because at the end of the Princess Bride novel, it leaves you on a cliffhanger, and I wanted at least some sort of feeling of completion. I hope you enjoy.

The Doctor opened his eyes to find the forest flying by.

“Good morning, Doctor.” Fezzik smiled as he held the Time Lord in his large arms, “I’m glad to see you up.”

“Doctor!” Westley, Inigo, and Buttercup all turned to look at the Doctor. There were only four horses now, it seemed that they had left the fifth horse behind and carry the Doctor on Fezzik’s.

“Brilliant.” The Doctor looked around in confusion.

“We’ve made it across Florin, the great ship, _Revenge,_ should be waiting there for us at a port not far from here; It’s only about a day’s journey.”

The Doctor only passed out two more times on that journey, but they finally made it to the port before Humperdinck’s men could catch up to them.

“Oh, I missed you.” The Doctor smiled, running a hand down the old wood of the TARDIS. He turned back to the group, “So, who needs a ride home.”

“Isn’t that what the ship’s for?” Buttercup asked in confusion.

“Yes, by this is faster. This is my ship, the TARDIS, can take you anywhere in the universe.

“I think we’ll stay here.” Inigo said, nodding to Fezzik, “Take on the mantle of the Dread Pirate Roberts and his first mate.”

“Buttercup and I are going to find a place to settle down.” Westley said, draping his arm around his love.

“Need a ride?” The Doctor asked hopefully.

“No, I think we’ll sail around a bit first.” Buttercup said, “See what’s out there, find the right place.”

“Right, right…” The Doctor said, “Well, I suppose this is goodbye, then.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right, Doctor? The state that you’re in?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“All right.”

“It was a honor.” Inigo said.

“Feel free to visit.” Buttercup smiled warmly.

“Yeah, yeah, I just might, you know…”

And with that the Doctor entered the empty TARDIS. It was quiet. Lonely.

“Just you and me.” The Doctor said, flicking switches and pulling levers. They entered the vortex and the Doctor made his way into the med-bay. “Now, whatever could be wrong with me?”

He checked the scanners. “Nothing a good healing comma will fix…” He sighed. It was so quiet. So empty. Maybe Donna had been right, maybe he did need to find someone…


End file.
